


Basement

by PeopleDoGoBothWays



Category: Glee
Genre: Bad Poetry, Gen, Homophobic Language, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleDoGoBothWays/pseuds/PeopleDoGoBothWays
Summary: Set during Season 1, before & including Preggers. Kurt's Dad gives him the entire basement as his bedroom.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Basement

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote in 2011

"Expertly finished", my "own little space." What a treat!

To keep my difference hidden, beneath our house.

A space for all my quirks, all the strange things that boys shouldn't want.

All that shit needs a lot of space, so I get the entire basement.

Wall to bone-colored wall, "go ahead and decorate."

Fill this room with all of your girly, faggy, fruity crap. Just keep it away from upstairs.

So we can appear normal. So he can look at his living room and pretend he has the son he wanted.

I do decorate. I make the best of it.

In the closet, beneath the clothes too expensive, too tight, too odd for a small-town Ohio boy

There's a box of my old childhood things. My power rangers and my tea set.

But I'll take it, this cavernous tomb in which to keep my deviance.

Here, I can recline on costly linens. A bed too large for a slight boy

But big enough to imagine

Tall, dark and handsome

Expressive eyes, of no particular hue

Alluring lips, strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones

Broad shoulders, muscles straining under tanned skin

Arms around me, a solid chest to absorb my apprehension

Hands that could encircle my waist

Hold me tight

Hold me close

Wrong?

It can't be wrong

to dream.

He knows.

He's known all along.

Of course he knows.

My closet door was cellophane,

At once suffocating and revealing.

How could I doubt, that he fucking knows?

Everybody knows.

It's not my choice, when to inform them.

But how could I doubt

My father's love?

My father, who didn't know how to talk to me about

Salon haircuts and

Moisturizing routines and

Alexander McQueen and Liza Minelli and 600 thread count sheets

So he bought them for me instead.

My father, who gave a design-obsessed kid an entire basement to decorate,

Who bought me all the tea sets and tight jeans,

all the girly, faggy, fruity crap I wanted.

My father, who embraces me

And promises me

That it's not wrong

to dream

No matter who you're dreaming of;

That I'm not wrong.

I'm all right, I'm the son he didn't expect

But never regretted.


End file.
